


Dark Horse

by TheAndromedaRecord



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Kiss, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Making Out, elias and peter are the ones who die, ep160 doesn't happen except the good cows part, hell yeah martin blackwood you go martin blackwood, martin kills elias, martin kills peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 22:34:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21866605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAndromedaRecord/pseuds/TheAndromedaRecord
Summary: There were two outcomes: either Elias would win the bet, or Peter would. That was how bets worked, after all.Neither of them expected Martin Blackwood to come out on top, but at least they didn't have much time to feel stupid, because Martin had been provided with a knife.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 38
Kudos: 402





	Dark Horse

**Author's Note:**

> so this is dumb and self-indulgent and also exactly the kind of thing i know you people want

“Maxwell Rayner is dead,” Martin said.

Elias and Peter just stared at him, uncomprehending. 

“I really don’t see why that matters,” Peter said. 

“It matters,” Martin said, turning the knife over in his palm and stalking towards the desiccated body of Jonah Magnus, “because Manuela Dominguez is alive.” He stared down Elias. “I know you’ve got some sort of game here. And I’m certainly not smart enough to figure out what it is. But I know one way to keep you from seeing it through.”

He raised the knife. Elias’s eyes widened in surprised alarm, but he barely had time to take a step forward before Martin plunged the knife into the dry skull’s eye socket. 

The Institute shook and screamed like a living thing, but Elias didn’t make a sound. He simply crumpled like a puppet with its strings cut, and the corpse of Jonah Magnus crumpled into dust. Martin felt vindication. The strongest emotion he’d felt for months, and he wasn’t planning to stop feeling it.

“Well done, Martin!” Peter cheered, patting Martin on the back. “Now you’re ready for the—“

Martin whirled around and plunged the knife into Peter’s neck. It was disturbingly easy, the lingering threads of the Lonely numbing the shock of seeing Peter’s red blood spurt forth, splattering onto Martin’s sweater. He drove the knife into Peter again, and again, and again, trying not to listen too hard to the shocked gurgling and sputtering that Peter was choking out through blood.

Finally, Peter slumped to the floor, hitting it with the sound of a sack of wet bacon. The knife fell soon after him as it slid from Martin’s fingers. 

Two men were dead, and Martin had killed them. He wished he could say it was the Lonely keeping him from feeling bad about it.

=

Jon knew the exact moment Elias Bouchard died. It broke his heart in the most literal sense possible. Like a punch to the chest, if the punch ripped out his blood. He cried out and fell to the floor of the tunnels. His eyes were crying blood. Jon was fairly sure they weren’t supposed to do that.

Something had been ripped away, leaving him so much lighter. He laughed through his iron tears. Elias Bouchard was dead, and Jon couldn’t See anything. The Eye seemed to reach him through a layer of static.

Jon tried to stand. He still had someone to save. But Elias’s death had left him weak and trembling, and as he pushed himself to his feet, his vision went black and he passed out.

=

“Jon! Jon!”

Jon opened his hazy eyes to see Martin’s face over him. 

“Martin,” Jon mumbled. “Martin, what happened?” His voice was full of static.

“We have to get out of here,” Martin said breathlessly. “Are you okay? Can you stand?”

Jon felt like hell. He tried to move and couldn’t. He was sweating and shivering and his headache pounded so violently he could hear it. He made a pained noise.

“Okay.” In one swift and sure motion, Martin scooped Jon up into his arms. Jon gasped. He’d never really considered how strong Martin was. “Jesus, Jon, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” Jon whispered. 

He realized Martin was crying, and showing far more emotion than Jon had seen on his face since the coma. 

“Everything,” Martin said. 

Jon expended a Herculean effort to reach up and gently caress Martin’s face.

“It’s okay,” he murmured. 

=

Jon was still unconscious, which was to be expected. Martin had no idea when he’d wake up, but he would. Eventually. Martin was endlessly grateful he’d caved to Peter’s insistence he drive a car instead of taking public transport. He strapped Jon into the backseat, his eyes fondly lingering on the pursed line of his mouth.

Fortunately, he had Jon’s address. It didn’t take long to grab a few essential supplies from their flats, and then began the long drive to the safe house Basira had told him about. He would have preferred to ask Jon about the plan, but Jon was out, and London was far too hot to stay. 

Jon started snoring as they left London, and Martin suppressed a giggle. It was such a human thing to do, and it reassured Martin that he would be okay.

Jon would wake up, and Martin felt a bit of anxiety at the thought. He was shamefully relieved that Jon was unconscious and Martin didn’t have to talk to him. The tendrils of the Lonely still clung to him, and it was all too easy to lean into their touch. Especially since Jon was in the backseat. Out of sight, out of mind. 

Martin sighed and turned on the radio. He had no idea what the host was talking about, but at least he knew it was another person on the other end of the airwaves. Helped to keep him grounded.

=

He set Jon down gently on the single bed in the safe house. It was a cramped and sparse space, but at least with Jon there it was too small to feel lonely. Jon was starting to stir, but he wasn’t awake yet. Martin took a damp paper towel and started to dab away the crusted blood that had trickled from every orifice of Jon’s face. The Lonely pierced into him like ice, trying to draw him away, but Martin brushed it off and relished the contours of Jon’s face. How his closed eyes fluttered delicately. His gently parted lips. 

Jon’s eyes opened just a sliver, and he smiled softly when he saw Martin.

“Martin,” he breathed. “You’re here.”

“Of course I’m here,” Martin said. “Do you want me to leave?”

“Why would I want you to?” Jon mumbled. 

Martin, realizing the strain Jon felt at looking up, lay down on the bed so that their faces were inches apart. He was past being shy, and he craved the warmth both real and metaphorical that emanated from Jon. 

“Jon, I…” The Lonely stole the words from his mouth as his throat filled with cold. Or maybe that was just his own cowardice. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“You killed Elias,” Jon stated. “And Peter.”

Martin nodded and wished he could apologize for that, but he didn’t want to lie to Jon anymore, so he didn’t.

Jon reached out and stroked Martin’s hair. Martin’s breath caught and the Lonely fled from the touch.

“Martin,” Jon said, “I…don’t know what to do. Or what to say, I—“ He took a deep breath. “Will you stay, Martin?”

“I don’t know,” Martin said miserably. “The Lonely, Jon, it’s…maybe it’s better if I go there. I mean, you don’t need me,” he chuckled humorlessly.

“But I want you,” murmured Jon. He took Martin’s face and gazed deep into his eyes, with that stare of his that melted Martin to his core. “Martin. Look at me. Tell me what you see.”

Martin looked, and he plunged headfirst into Jon’s eyes, and he Saw. He saw Jonathan Sims laid bare, his fears and his hopes and the tiredness that twisted in him like a knife. He saw Mr. Spider and the feeling of worms and the crushing weight of the Buried. But crashing over all of that like a tidal wave over a house of cards was love. Pure, all-consuming love. For Martin. 

And Martin invited him to look back. He let Jon see the fire that burned in his stomach, and heard Jon’s little intake of breath. It hurt. It hurt like hell as Jon’s steady gaze burned away the numbing fog of the Lonely. Feeling like pins and needles rushed back into Martin’s heart as that fire he’d tried to extinguish roared back to life. 

The vision faded, and Martin realized he’d forgotten to breathe.

“I see you, Jon,” he whispered. “I see you.” 

It didn’t seem quite right, but no words could possibly be adequate for the flow of love Jon had filled him with and the scalding fire that begged to pour smoke from his lips. 

Jon closed the gap between them and pressed his face to Martin’s neck. He didn’t say anything, just breathed in and out. In and out. His breath tickled Martin’s skin.

“Martin,” he said. “I…”

Martin laughed weakly. Neither of them could really say what they were thinking, it seemed. He settled for wrapping his arms around Jon, rubbing a comforting hand up and down his back.

“We got out, Martin,” Jon said, and Martin could feel his smile. “We got out. We got out of the Institute.”

“I guess we did run away together, after all.” Martin paused. “You know, I would have done it.”

Jon made a little quizzical noise. 

“Escape with you. Quit. If it weren’t for Peter.”

“I’m so glad it’s you,” Jon murmured. “It’s always been you.”

Martin’s breath hitched, and he didn’t have time to regain it before Jon kissed him. 

Jon’s lips were impossibly soft and light, his touch shy and almost hesitant. Warmth spread from Martin’s chest, and he clutched at Jon like a drowning man clutches a log. Their lips separated, but not for long—Martin kissed Jon back with perhaps a bit too much enthusiasm, but Martin was so impossibly hungry for something he’d never even realized he needed. Their teeth clacked together a bit painfully, and Jon just chuckled deep in his chest. Martin felt the vibrations of his laughter, and his own chest was speared almost painfully with love. 

He threaded a hand through Jon’s hair, and Jon moaned gently as his lips parted once again against Martin’s. 

Martin moved his lips down to Jon’s jawline, relishing the embarrassing little noises Jon made as he nibbled his way along that sharp edge. 

“Martin,” Jon whispered. 

Martin hummed and kissed Jon’s pulse point. He felt Jon’s quick heartbeat against his tongue. 

“I love you,” Martin said to Jon’s heartbeat. “I love you,” Martin said to the scars along Jon’s neck. “I love you,” Martin said to Jon, who was now crying.

“I love you,” Jon said. 

He curled into Martin’s chest, clinging to his sweater.

They had gone home.


End file.
